


Jukebox

by Albrecht_Starkarm



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: 'Eighties Music, Alcohol, Bicuriosity, Character Study, Delicious Juicy Sapphism, Dive Bars, F/F, Post-Divorce, She bop, They Bop, Very Athletic Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albrecht_Starkarm/pseuds/Albrecht_Starkarm
Summary: Another shitty day at the office means another jaunt to the eternal dive bar at the end of the world for Une.  And that means a black dress a few sizes tighter than her skin, fuck-me heels, and quarters fed into a nostalgia jukebox blasting out the best of the 1980s.  And tonight, that means an old colleague is there to complain about it.And that, ladies and gentlemen, means wall-shaking knee-melting brain-pulverizing sweat-drenched Sapphic sex and you don't even have to pay for admission.  Just thank Cyndi Lauper.





	Jukebox

The only reason anybody'd walk into a dive like Dagwood's was either 'cause they'd lost every goddamned kernel of sense in their heads or they were blind and deaf and suffering from anosmia or they saw and felt and tasted all the warning signs on their tongues and they'd still looked at the place with its greasy bikers shuffling around in their leathers and said: Cool.

The place was just another byway on the road to perdition in a corridor of hellfire neon. Clanging chains and raucous voices and a bigass clattering metal door that hadn't only seen better years but better generations. Paint peeled from a panel scabrous with rust. If you prised off a flake and ate it, you'd probably be able to taste past years' desperation.

The air was heavy with weed around the place, that blued grass smoke curling into nostrils with a sickening sweet suffocation. Coffin-nails, too, the harder the better. Some of the shit was obviously even makhorka from the old Soviet places. There was one nation now.

Not that it meant much. Sure, the old war machines were sleeping the dead sleep of the grave, and the old countries were long-erased lines on a map that was always etched out with pencil so the cartographers of fate most plebs never saw could renegotiate them. They were always there in their manses and lavish drawing rooms with armchairs whose leather was thicker and softer and fatter than anything but the blood-rich port they sipped while they pushed around increments of massacre and famine and suffering for another half-percentage on their stocks.

The old stockbrokers were still there in their offices. Sure, the cities were mostly bombed-out hells, but there were always new bodies to rebuild them. And there was real air. Not the colonies' plastic oxygen. The grass along the median in the charmless little grimy hellpit was natural, too. You took it for granted when you lived on that blue star of water long enough.

Water they didn't need to ship in and process, even if it'd grown poisonous.

Air the CPC couldn't cut off if you didn't pay the bills.

Soil that was blackened and ruined but still _there_.

There was life. Bodies and sweat. Une especially liked those two. She was well on the way to being shitfaced that night before she'd even taken a sip, 'cause she was in a drunk-off-her-ass mood. It started with waking up to an empty bed and not even an apologetic note on the bed stand and a goddamned carton of orange juice snatched out of her fridge.

For chrissake, that bitch took her _orange juice_. Who the hell does that?

And then public transpo had made a respectable effort at reenacting the sinking of the Spanish Armada and gotten snarled with a massive fire sparking and spluttering and finally whipping across a few of the cars on the el-train when a hydrogen cell gave.

And then she'd stumbled into the office and met that terse taciturn little jerk's, _Oh, you're late. What do you think of th_ _is_ _paperwork?_

What do I think, Heero?

I think you should trust your instincts or you're gonna be trusting _my_ instincts and filing those papers in your colon. That's what I think.

But Colonel Une couldn't say anything like _that_. So she'd politely returned his salute, brushed back her hair, shuffled through what was a major peacekeeping project's notes she'd somehow forgotten about entirely. She was going gray. She was pretty sure she was, anyway. Kept finding silvery little threads in her brush, and she was pretty sure it wasn't 'cause Dorothy had made a point of sullying herself with a commoner's when she had her beautiful bejeweled confection in silver and gold and platinum with a bigass mural of some pretty noble in impressionistic diamonds and pearls and emeralds and topaz on its back.

That was why she'd trudged home, slipped into something that felt even a little comfortable, and cranked on the engine and blasted some angry old anthem to teenage angst from her radio she never would've known from her childhood and coasted down the main strip into a place that wasn't just seedy but totally gone to seed.

The sky was a rich red lather with the neon wash spit up from the XXXs and Peep Shows and All-Nude Dancers and other carnal invitations that winked and blinked and enticed with their empty promises of vacant onanism and voyeurism and play-pretend by-the-hour-and-by-the-dollar exhibitionism.

Dagwood's was on the shores of that hell. More a timeshare in the City of Dis than anything. And Une's still wasn't the nicest car in the lot. There were a few authentic luxury models she'd made as being the gangsters' or their thugs' or just their fucks' and some profs and professionals and bourgeoisie with a sincere and likely deeply misguided hunger for some slumming.

She wasn't exactly dressed for slumming. She'd stared at herself in the mirror in her apartment. She could've afforded something huger, but why bother? It was utilitarian, but it looked palatial next to her barracks as a military woman. A two-bedroom in a respectable building tucked into a charming middle-class neighborhood where the worst noise was hearing the neighbors' brats warbling through their opened windows when it was cool enough the AC wasn't blasting throughout the summer.

Newly-installed carpets and a kitchen that was a helluva lot more than a woman who mostly had business lunches and dinners and sometimes breakfasts needed. One of the bedrooms was what she called a study. Nothing was studied there. It was a sepulcher for a life she'd once lived.

But the other was at least a real bedroom. Makeup neatly arranged on her dresser in front of a wide mirror that graced her with a vision of what might not have been fit-for-fight special forces perfection anymore, but would probably still have given at least half the earth's women complexes.

Une knew she was beautiful. She had enough notches on her bedpost it should've been a set of toothpicks. Hair as long as it'd always been, thick and auburn, a full fall down her shoulders and framing her face. She'd dampened it a little. Misted it with what her vaguely prissy hairdresser called _product_. Not that she knew what the hell that meant.

Makeup that wasn't exactly office-approved. High regal bones even sharper with foundation and contouring that effaced any hypothetical imperfections she _might've_ had. Her eyes looked even bigger, large dark-chocolate pools ringed in vaguely diabolical violet shadow. Eggplant-colored gloss smeared on her lips.

It was sexy.

God, _she_ was sexy. Loved it. Loved smoothing down a pair of black stockings over legs that looked endless in a pair of patent leather fuck-me heels and pouring herself into a dress that was small and black and needed no other embellishment. A generously scooped neckline.

And a pair of glasses. She didn't really need them, but that wasn't the point. Not _those_ glasses. Not the ones that could still fill her with a hot rush of cruelty the second the cold steel entombed her temples. These were squared, flat, hedged her eyes in thick blame plastic.

She knew there were eyes following her. She knew it was conceited.

She didn't care. Not when she stepped nimbly around an aspiring one-percenter with a big gut and doughy arms staggering out of the Dagwood's. He was the place's ambiance personified: A belch in your ear, and what it did to your nose was even worse.

Olfactory rape was one of those phrases she was pretty sure was perfect for the place. It cracked over her like stepping out of a cargo plane at altitude and meeting the jet stream if it'd been made out of spilled booze and puke-matted sawdust.

Dagwood's was built around the wide old wooden bar set against the back. The thick-armed thick-gutted lantern-jawed guy like some red-faced mick politician caricature out of Tammany Hall wasn't Dagwood, as far as Une knew. Far as _she_ knew there, wasn't a Dagwood.

His name was Chuck, and Chuck had owned the place since well before the war, and he'd just stayed. Even after a chunk of the Libra had flattened enough of the city it looked like a child's toys after they'd had a tantrum with a sledgehammer.

Dagwood's was untouched, like most of the place of red lights, which said God either had a sense of humor or a hatred for gentrification. The place was a fug of stale cigarette smoke and misty vape and cigars like Chuck's. The guy always had a fat old Cohiba burning like a distant lighthouse through even the densest fog. Broad-chested and looked like he'd probably been an athlete when he was young before it went to fat slinging booze and probably partaking a little too much of his own product.

The bar was old creaky wood, varnish renewed every night with puke and blood and bits of teeth and spilled booze. The place reeked of humanity's degradation. If you looked up, you'd see old rafters blackened with time. The few windows the place had were gummed over with a tarry sludge made from the ghost of cigarettes past.

Une loved the place. 'specially the old jukebox Dagwood's had. It was rickety, shopworn, a real cliché off the factory line. A Wurlitzer throbbing with a haze of psychedelic colors like LSD gummy bears and there was always weird and eclectic stuff. You'd find old favorites, or at least somebody's favorites, from the nineteen-eighties before the colonies even went up and then there'd be stuff even older than that.

But it was old. Everything was fuckin' old and it was beautiful. Une's eyes roved over the place. She sucked in Dagwood's ambiance, the working girls' familiar hip-swinging prowl in their tastefully ripped stockings and mussed hair and sickening smear of perfume potent enough to cut through the smoke and their johns' sometimes pretty serious funk of sour onions and garlic.

The beauties on the make and weathered old broads in too-tight miniskirts and tops who melted into the smoke and dim oily light leaking out of brassy fixtures plunging from the ceiling on steely chains like metal spiders. Sometimes, even some of those were closing-time specials _with_ the place's flammable average blood-alcohol level.

Didn't mean Une was always guaranteed to hear a single word the whole night. She still gave off that ineffable edge that was sometimes like a wolf's yellow eyes glinting in the dark. It raised people's hackles. Even people who raised _others'_ hackles.

But they were just coyotes. Sometimes just big puffed-up Labradors.

Une was the authentic article. She'd lived in the dark woods under the cold moonlight and she'd howled like all the rest of the real monsters who were supposed to be extinct or at least politely pretending to be and everyone else told themselves the fangs were just _very_ big smiling teeth.

Booths were littered around the edges. Hucksters and pushers and peddlers did their business there. A few working girls and joyboys Une knew, too, discreet handjobs or on-your-knees-and-cleaning-up-with-a-napkin transactions with pathetic losers who only needed a few seconds to pay up for chicks and guys who often had sad-eyed kids in shitty homes or transient motels or hot-sheet joints charged by the hour.

The bathrooms were about as bad. And that was if you had the suicidal sensibility to _step_ into the bathroom without either a serious fetish or a tetanus vaccine and a lot else.

Tables were clustered around what masqueraded as a dance floor. It was mostly just a big place in space where everyone just kind of agreed you could slam dance with skin-slapping sweat-plastered drunk-out-of-your-coordination sexual frenzy as an appetizer to more debauchery.

Une bellied up to the bar. It was a bar you bellied up to, even if you didn't have one. There were seats, old and ripped and redecorated in elegant shades of black electric tape.

"Whaddaya want?" Chuck knew her name.

She'd even whispered what her _real_ name was over her sixth Cuba Libre one night. But would he ever give her more than than perfunctory bark like a pissed-off old mastiff? No.

Chuck wore his usual stained white shirt, sleeves pulled up over hefty arms sleeved in intricate Marine Corps tattoos.

"Cuba Libre. The usual, Chuck." Une didn't wanna sit anymore, but she still found herself sitting down on the stool.

"Y'gotta git a new usual. Sugar crops are in th'shitter. Coke's gon' git a lot pricier."

"I can afford it, Chuck. Thanks for the concern for my economic welfare-"

"Gotta keep th'money rollin' in. It ain't too good for my wallet, neither." The guy's voice didn't really move through space and into your ears. It stepped into your head. He had beady teddy bear eyes hedged with pinched lids and deep furrows.

Une thought he had a weird charisma. He was handsome in the way a bear was. You didn't exactly know _why_ , but sometimes she had this weird twinge: If he was actually a human being, I'd probably kiss him.

Une could afford more than the rotgut thrice-refilled rum Chuck dredged out of the well. But she loved the liver-corroding shit. And Chuck never watered down his drinks out of principle and economic sense. There were enough dives everywhere else who paid protection to the local hoods and were corner offices for whores and pushers you couldn't really be the one that gives a bad buzz.

Une didn't have a tab. Paid cash promptly. So Chuck was always heavy on the rum. Dumped in a good two fingers into the cleanest highball he had andmashed out a flash of bitter bright green lime juice into it before he filled the rest with Coke.

It was the authentic article. No high-fructose whatever made you feel like you'd just shotgunned a fifty-pound bag of sugar.

She took the glass from Chuck. Already had a five ready.

Keep the change was just implicit.

The jukebox was fucking _loud_. The Smiths might mostly have been shit, but at least _Bigmouth Strikes Again_ had an adequate rhythm to get wasted to. But she didn't like The Smiths. Didn't like whiny play-pretend punk or New Wave or whatever the hell morons who couldn't play more than the same two chords were called.

No ice. The place was hot. Steeped in sweat and bodies crammed together and Une felt the Coke start to go pretty tepid pretty quickly. It was fine. It didn't get you drunk any slower at room temperature.

And now she was getting up after some asshole'd played the _same_ fucking song three times in a row. Chuck knew what the look on her face meant. Une didn't own the jukebox, but goddamn if even most of the drunk rowdies would need more than a sharp word from her before they cleared away from it.

She just shouldered past whoever was standing there. A lissome shape, hot skin and gentle warmth and whoever it was, probably a woman, they felt light.

Une dug out a clutch of quarters from the thin little clutch slung off her shoulder from an even thinner cord, Christ, the thing still took quarters, and dumped in not just _one_ but six into the machine. Stabbed down at Cyndi Lauper's _She Bop_.

Une felt in a boppin' mood.

"What gives, lady?" Une just stood there, Cuba Libre in her left hand, a palm on the jukebox's clammy warm plastic face. The voice was bratty. Sharp and arrogant.

Une said nothing. Cyndi Lauper's voice was even more deliciously bratty. Washed over her and set the world in its proper order. All the PKF bullshit; all the Preventer garbage; all of Heero's anal-retentive reports and Quatre's compulsive heart-bleeding and the shit with Her Ladyship Relena, President-for-Life of the Earth Sphere. Even that knock-down-drag-out she'd had with Dorothy and when she'd belted her across the face and didn't feel really badly about it.

She wanted to get fucking _wasted_ and a Cuba Libre was perfect for it. Better than anything but a Long Island iced tea, which was moot 'cause Chuck said it was a fag drink and besides he wasn't gonna do more than a few mixes and that was goddamned a lot more than a few mixes.

Une finished her first Cuba Libre at about the second she needed more self-control than she could really hope to have.

"Hey, do you mind not playing that shitty song anymore, okay?" Whoever it was, Une was making a sincere effort to pretend they didn't exist. You're not part of my world. She should've been muttering a koan to herself or at least some soft ashram chant.

Go away.

Go away.

"Yes, I do mind not playing it. Do you know why? I like Cyndi Lauper-"

"She sucks, and _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_ should be banned-"

"Fine." Une stabbed a finger on Oingo-Boingo. _Dead Man's Party_. "Happy?"

"Christ, all this 'eighties stuff-"

"Are you gonna bitch all- wait, do I know you?" Une finally turned. And met what was someone she hadn't been expecting. The bratty nasal voice was deeper than she'd remembered it being. Which figured.

The face was prettier, too. Kind of butch-y, but the most _femme_ butch she'd ever seen. A sharp serrated shock of hair so black it looked indigo in the dark misted with sweat and fanned over a proud brow and a small cute nose and soft lips painted black.

Maybe she wasn't butch so much as goth. But she was something. Big cyanide eyes cradled in spiked mascara'd lashes and her cheeks were either smeared in ash-white foundation or she had a serious case of anemia.

Une was taller than she was by about three inches. At least. And then another three in the heels.

The short-ass chick stared up at her with a look that wouldn't've been out of place if she'd been six inches taller.

"What, do you know me? What kinda lame line is that-"

"Didn't you used to work on the Gundam zero-two?" The chick's face didn't soften so much as kind of melt for a half-second. She tilted her head.

"Wait, Une?"

"Yeah. It's- Hilde?" That was it, wasn't it? They hadn't seen each other since the demobilization banquet.

It was fucking ridiculous. Everyone sloppy-drunk and reeling and clinking together their glasses and clapping each other on the back and pretending they couldn't feel the hungry tortured ghosts of tens of millions of people crushing in on them.

"Yeah, it's... Hilde. Hilde Schbeiker."

"Not Maxwell?" If it were possible for a face _that_ white to darken, it was almost black.

" _Née_ Schbeiker and now _née_ Maxwell and back to Schbeiker again. What about you?"

"Single and lonely." It was supposed to sound clever and wry and it came out as being a notch more pathetic than _available_. "God, that came out-"

"I know the feeling." Hilde's eyes looked more than a little morose. "You, ah, you want to get a drink, Une?"

"Sure." It was unnatural to sit at a table with Hilde, but she hated the bar, and she looked like she hated Chuck, so it was just obvious. Une knew there was always a booth open unless it was Saturday night and that was when Joey The Spade held court.

Everyone else was afraid of the big bookie, but the guy didn't have the juice he'd convinced everyone else he did. The booth was shit, like everything else, but maybe a _little_ cleaner for not having the usual circulation of bodies on its groaning ratty old orange Naugahyde.

There were waitresses. Mostly busty young girls in tight black blouses and over-the-hill biker chicks who looked like they'd been a few too many assholes' old ladies before they'd gone into some kind of business for themselves.

Myrna was one of the former who had a voice like the latter. Une glanced up at her the first time she heard that six-pack-a-day rumble and wondered just how the hell one of the waitresses who looked like a bad stretch of pavement could project her voice like that.

But it was just Myrna. She was beautiful. Tight belly and long legs and big breasts crammed in a bra overflowing with the tips she let the shitfaced morons tuck against her soft creamy tits like a strip club. Minced around on black heels and wore leggings that were probably _exactly_ her skin's size.

It still wasn't as sexy as what Hilde was wearing. Une hadn't seen it very well, but she wasn't exactly androgynous when you caught a look at her. Stockings so sheer they looked like grease painted on her beautifully sculpted legs and a ridiculously short ruffled skirt like some demon schoolgirl's and a blouse to match it. Chunky black heels shining brightly under even the subdued light.

Une ordered another Cuba Libre, offered to pay for whatever Hilde wanted.

Turned out that was the cheapest apple schnapps they had.

"So, ah, you... How's the Preventer business going, _Colonel_ Une-"

"Don't talk about that right now. Please." Une really _was_ a helluva lot taller. And even more 'cause it seemed like Hilde was about two-thirds legs. Or thereabout. "Please, don't talk about work. You, ah...

"So, what do _you_ do?" It was lame. Beautifully lamer than a quadriplegic horse.

At least Hilde laughed. It was husky. A little hoarse.

"Sorry, ah, if-"

"I'm a mechanic." It figured. "I know, right? What're the odds? A, ah, a dropout whose only professional skills are in machines becoming a mechanic."

"You do what you know." Une knew that. God, Hilde was even prettier when she smiled. It quirked big soft lips adorned with a gloss that looked like polished crude oil.

Une felt a sharp little twinge somewhere deep.

"Yeah, you- you're living _that_ , aren't'cha, Colonel?"

"I hate that stupid rank-"

"What's wrong with it? I mean, you were a general before, but there _are_ no generals anymore."

"Because only armies need generals. And we're not an army." Une knew the fucking mantra better than her own face. "I live in civilian housing. I'm just another glorified cop. What do you work on, Hilde?"

"Aside from my drunk?" Hilde cocked her head a bit. Studied Une. Narrowed her eyes and they still looked almost like a little girl's.

"Aside from your drunk."

"Mostly in the business of salvaging and converting old war machines. Mobile suits to mobile workers. Stuff like that."

"Sounds like it pays well."

"Hey, it's good for a girl who never finished high school."

"I never did, either."

"Are you making fun of me or something?" If Hilde meant it as a joke, it came out hard and vindictive. But it didn't sound like it.

"Huh?" Une brushed long fingers around her glass. "What do you mean-"

"That- that thing about not graduating from high school? Was that, like, a dig or-"

"Someone's paranoid. I mean I never graduated from high school. I didn't go to a high school. Not even a _Gymnasium_ like most people my age did. My parents had me educated at home. By governesses and tutors.

"And then I went to the military academy. What's your problem?"

Hilde said nothing.

Her lips split open in a gigantic smile.

She started laughing. It was raucous. Loud. Breathless and guffawing and then Une started laughing, too, and mostly it was just 'cause she was at least half-in-the-bag and crawling all the way in but it could've been that Hilde's laugh was just _that_ intense.

"O-ohmyfuckinggod, I- I just... I just totally flipped out on somebody I barely even _know_ 'cause- 'cause..." And now Hilde's laughter was ending. Suddenly. Like someone'd slammed off the breakers. "'cause he always did that when he was pissed off at me."

Une wasn't wasted enough to have to ask who _he_ was.

"Sorry about that, uh... Jesus, I don't even know your name. Your first name's not Une, right?"

"No, it's not." Une goddamned _hated_ her first name with the kind of passion most people reserved for subway buskers who couldn't even play one chord and door-to-door solicitors who always chimed the doorbell when you'd settled down to a meal or something you wanted to see for once was on the vid.

"So, uh-"

"That's not important. Just call me Une. Everyone else does."

"Cool. Une. Hilde. Like you know, and..."

Myrna swept in on a haze of oversweet teenage perfume and clicking heels. Vamped for Une. Any other night, horny, a little desperate- oh, hell, a _lot_ desperate... Une would've been cranking up the dark-eyed seduction.

She just paid Myrna after she set down their glasses with a pair of quiet _thunk_ s on the table.

"Thanks for the schnapps-"

"Should've ordered something expensive when I offered to pay." Hilde just laughed. Knocked back what must've been at least two full shots in one gulp.

"No, thanks. I like keeping my debts small, thank you." Hilde lingered on the greasy dregs. Une sipped hers. It was sharp and acrid with the real sugar and the coarse Coca-Cola and just... Something hard.

The carbonation lashed at her throat.

They stared at each other for awhile. It was one of those obvious problems when two people who knew each other only enough to know they didn't know anything about each other except their mutual problems were forced together.

Alcohol was usually the solution.

But the solution wasn't solving anything.

"So, ah... You're here all alone? In that great dress, um, Une?" Hilde was groping for _something_. Une felt it. If she'd been polite, she would've just excused herself and gone off and found someone for a one-nighter at another bar.

But Une wasn't feeling too polite.

"I, ah, yeah. I... I broke up with someone just lately."

"Really? So, uh, was it that big blond guy? Y'know, the one with the great hair?"

"Milliardo? He, ah, no. No." Une's laughter was a hard bark. "No, I don't think he's my type."

"No? He's got a great body. I, er, I hear-"

"Not my type at all."

"Er, that... That Heero guy? No, wait, he's married. Er, it's- Christ, it's not-"

"Duo's not my type, either, Hilde." Jesus, did she have to whip out the best of the Indigo Girls?

"Oh? So, ah, who was it?"

"Dorothy." Yeah, well, Une didn't say she had fantastic taste. Hilde's lips looked sort of flattened. Her eyes were a little flat, too.

"U-uh, who?"

"Dorothy."

"Weird-eyebrows Dorothy?"

"Weird-eyebrows Dorothy."

"She, er, uh... It's... Wow. Uh, but- but you're not together now-"

"Turns out dating someone because you have a mutual psychopathy and she looks like a man that obsessed you for most of what you could laughably call your adult life isn't the healthiest idea."

"She, er, she's really pretty, though, ah..." It was pretty fucking obvious Hilde was at the phase most people are when they walk into _you're a lesbian and we have nothing in common except ovaries_.

"She is very pretty."

"I mean, y'know, did she get prettier? I always thought she was really cute then, but, uh, those weird eyebrows, and..."

"She got prettier. Yes." _That_ question, Une hadn't been expecting.

"How's it feel to have sex with a girl?" That one, too.

"A-ah, what?"

"I mean... Like, how does it feel to do it with a girl? 'cause, I mean, I- I dunno. Duo, he... He wasn't, er, too interested in women. At all." Figured. Hilde looked even prettier now. There was something about her face that made everything look like a pout.

Une felt her thighs push a little closer together with a little spark of electricity.

Hilde was just asking one of the dumb questions people whose filters get corroded by liquor _always_ ask. How _does_ it feel?

"It's... You know, it's sex-"

"No, I mean, I'm serious. 'cause- 'cause when Duo and me did it, it, like, it felt _so_ good for me."

"Oh?" Good for you, straight girl.

"Yeah. I mean, my first time, I didn't exactly _come_ , but I felt **really** good after I got over the pain. But Duo, he- y'know... He didn't come, either." Une hadn't solicited that one. "But it felt so good. And I creamed my _brains_ out the second time we did and it took him, y'know, two hours to get off.

"But it felt **amazing**."

That was very edifying.

Hilde's eyes were a little demented. Her smile was hopelessly stupid.

"Right, I mean, I'm- I'm telling you that stuff-"

"It feels amazing." Why not just tell Hilde the self-evident truth? How could it _not_ be amazing to feel a beautiful woman's soft skin and lush shapes pulled close to you?

"Oh. T-to sleep with a girl?" Hilde looked transfixed with the idea. "So, uh, is... I've just been thinking, What's wrong with me, y'know?"

"I don't think anything."

"You sure?"

"You're really pretty, Hilde. I- I love the goth look-"

"Do you? I'm not too old for it?"

"Uh-uh." Hilde was not. She looked like she was barely in college.

"Thanks. I... So, y'know, how- how's it work? Two girls?" She had this dreamy look. If it'd been anyone Une knew she'd _probably_ have to see in the future, she would've just shut the hell up and said something about renting some choice movies.

"Do you want me to show you?" But that wasn't a problem tonight.

Hilde's smile got even huger. Crept across her face 'til Une was pretty sure she could just swallow her entire head.

"Uh, um, what do you mean?" Une felt someone else guiding her body. A long leg eased out to brush a sharp stiletto heel at Hilde's calf. Just a faint little graze. Hilde didn't jerk away.

Didn't say, Oh, geeze, I was just _joking_.

Which was pretty much the reason Une did what she never did when she was feeling bitter and depressed and hungering just for the jukebox and enough Cuba Libres to bring back Castro from the grave and ready for a six-hour tub-thumper and crushing Hilde against her car's chitinous black hide.

It was clammy in the night's stagnant muggy heat. It closed tight around them. Misted Une's chest and neck with sweat.

Hilde _really_ had a helluva lot of foundation on, and that was absolutely fucking divine. Even with her heels, she was still adorably short. Her hair was feathery under Une's fingers when she brushed them nimbly along Hilde's lean shoulders, along her neck's gentle shapes. Up up up and and dipped closer, closer.

Hilde wore perfume. It vanished in Dagwood's sickening fug and even now it was discreet, floating up from her neck and wrists into Une's nose. An inkling of something sweet. A teenager's pharmacy perfume filtered through a pricier brand.

Une didn't wear anything. Dorothy wore perfume. Chanel. It figured. And smelling that again would've just been a cruel pang of something she didn't know even really existed. Hilde's was soft, delicate, teased her sinuses.

Une didn't just kiss her. That would've been too indelicate. Too childish. There wouldn't've been the tease. Hilde's eyes looked even bigger, a little frightened, so small and she was **not** small south of her neckline. Big breasts pushed up against Une's chest. A sharp snap of sensation.

Une caught Hilde's soft little gasp. Brushed her brow against Hilde's and savored the warm velvety rustle of hair rich with a tropical fruit shampoo. Une's was tea tree.

Une finally kissed her. Finally. _Finally_. Long and unhurried. It was one of those kisses that belonged in a how-to encyclopedia. Not just slamming their mouths together but the first soft little graze, teasing together, feeling her head pivot, Hilde's neck twist a little, reaching up and **really** not regretting what might've just been a half-second's curiosity falling out of her control like marbles scattering over a table.

Hilde's breath washed over her face. It was a little sour with the liquor, and there was still a tinge of apple and something even lovelier.

Their lips moved together. Softly. Slowly. Finally caught one another firmly and pushed closer, tighter, those richly-glossed bows plumping while Une's fingers poureddown Hilde's back, up her nape again.

It was a kiss that didn't need a time limit. Lingered with quiet sticky sounds and gentle whispers and coos and finally Une was the one backing away, Hilde's eyes half-lidded, spiky lashes trembling a little on her cheeks.

"Wow. I... I can see why you love kissing girls."

It just reconfirmed everything Une had always known. And had her yanking open the boring little colony-manufactured Sedan's passenger door and easing Hilde onto the seat and stabbing her finger on the autodrive when she heaved herself down behind the wheel.

Kissed her. Kissed her and kissed her across the center column.

If Une could've chosen _one_ technology to reward with divinity right now, it was the fucking autodrive. 'cause Hilde wasn't so shy anymore. The first kiss had been inquisitive and maybe a little uneasy and it was revelation and _now_ Hilde was plowing her mouth into Une's.

A second candidate for divine recognition? Whoever invented that oozy bright glistening gloss that set as firmly as enamel on your lips. 'cause at least they weren't a demented clownish smudge of colors on each other's mouths and cheeks and necks. Hilde had pretty obviously only ever kissed a man, 'cause she had that awkwardness Une would've known anywhere from otherwise straight girls.

It was expecting to have a tongue jammed down your throat.

"Come- come inside, Hilde." Staggering up the clattering steel stairs winding up her condo block's tight six-storey pillar. Heels clanked on the textured metal. Figured it'd be the sixth floor. Une stopped both of them just to stare out the balcony, hand wrapped around Hilde's.

It was a beautiful evening. The moon glowed with a cool silvery luster through a coquettish cowl of clouds.

And then Une was jamming a card into her apartment's door. It gave with its latch's little _snick_. Shoved aside and Hilde was tumbling along with her. Shoes kicked off in the foyer and the door flung carelessly closed, locked automatically.

Hilde kissed her. God, the only thing more delicious than kissing a girl was being kissed _by_ a girl. Hilde's palms on Une's naked shoulders, a gentle pressure easing her back against the wall.

Une's hair rustled on the white paint.

Her apartment was a universe of white. Eggshell walls. Cream carpeting. A ceiling that looked like it'd been sprayed with alabaster pebbles and a fan like an obese peg-legged tarantula in every room. The entryway was a slender slash of hardwood; opened up into a sitting room with a neatly arranged sofa and some chairs and a low bookcase that was her minor liquor collection's credenza. A vid on a hutch opposite the sofa, dead stupid black eye.

A vidphone on the wall and a white-tiled kitchen whose thrumming fridge was about the only sound in the place most nights except papers' soft shuffling or a book spine's creak and lately Une's and Dorothy's voices clattering off the walls and a few dishes hurled around.

And now Hilde's soft shivering breath while she forged closer and just _kissed_ her. It was a little clumsy. Maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was the novelty, or maybe it was just how _much_ shorter Hilde was. Leaned up and pinned Une against the wall and it was delicious captivity.

Sticky and sweet like oversugared tea. Hilde's and Une's heads tilted a little, mouths meshing with the kind of perfection that said something about _just_ how perfectly some goddess must've made women. Tongue flicked at Une's teeth with a scintillating little stroke.

"Fuck." That was referendum enough on Hilde's persuasion. Une opened her mouth. Urged Hilde's tongue even deeper. And caught it with her lips.

" _Fuck_." Hilde pulled away. And lunged back.

They caromed off the walls. Almost stumbled over the sofa and Hilde let out a delicious little squeak when Une's palms coasted down her shoulders and back and slipped under her kinderwhore goth schoolgirl top and brushed along what was legitimately one of the most delicious softnesses she'd ever felt.

Hilde's skin was buttered silk.

"God, your skin's perfect. How the _hell_ do you get it like that?" Une's wasn't exactly sandpaper, but that was just incredible. Only Dorothy's had ever felt anything like it.

And Dorothy had known as much manual labor as the average house cat.

"Huh?" Hilde barely noticed the words. Just felt Une's fingers ghosting up under her tits. _Grazed_ them through the perfunctory bra keeping them from just bouncing around like bowling balls.

"Your skin."

"Yeah." Hilde just looked shellshocked. "Yeah, I... A-ah, fu-fuck, Une-"

"You said you wanted to try, right?" Hilde did. Yeah. Une kissed her again with her butt up against some low cabinet hunched next to the bedroom door. It stood half-open. Beckoned with its curtained gloom, with the soft summery rustle of wind caressing the thick foliage around Une's building stirring through the open master bath window.

"Y-yeah, I... Fuck. Fuck!" Une didn't exactly need any telepathy to tell Hilde had been even more hard-up than she was. Une had been stumbling through a succession of one-nighters and sometimes just hour-long spasms of noontime or late-afternoon fuck-outings in sleazy motels and once or twice in the office with the pretty college-aged chick who brought in take-out from the local Chinese place.

Hilde's tummy tightened. A fine inkling of muscle surfaced when her head sagged back, her lips trembled. Une finally _finally_ reached her breasts' generous shelf. Teased along the skin through her bran and rose higher.

"Christ, Une, your fingers-"

"What about them?" Une knew _just_ what it was. She wasn't pulling triggers anymore; wasn't entombed in an MS' cockpit, yanking at the control levers, pushing herself through a demented sitting dance with her boots on the pedals.

They'd grown softer and they were still strong and callused from the daily exercise regimen. Grunting under a clanking barbell, sweat rolling down her shoulders and chest and the regular up-down-up-down on a pull-up bar.

"They feel _so_ fucking good. T-take my top off."

"I think it's cute." It was. But it was still going. Hilde's arms hoisted up, the satiny tunic pulled to her elbows.

And left there.

"Jesus-"

"You didn't say _all_ the way, right?" Hilde wasn't gonna complain. Even less 'cause her bra was a front-clasp. Snapped open with a nimble ease, breasts bouncing out when that last bit of tension left. "God, your tits are _humongous_ , Hilde." Yeah. They were. Une just kind of gawped at them for a half-second. "Is your bra too small or something-"

"I- I just... I don't like 'em in the way. That's all. I- I've always got 'em bound up when I'm workin' on the suits, so I just kinda got used to the feeling." More than just hand-filling. When Une's palms settled on 'em, they overflowed. Plump and packed with delicious yielding fat.

Hot and already shiny with sweat in a fine slick. Big thick nipples set into wide peachy areolae, Hilde's skin so pale it looked like she'd been bled half-to-death. And so sensitive Hilde almost snapped her back against the cabinet's edge when Une rolled her thumbs over those delicious sparking peaks.

"Jesus Christ, Une, Une-"

"What is it, Hilde?" Touched her. Slowly. Deliberately. Pushed her thumbs down on her nipples and let them spring back and circled them with the kind of patience that said Une probably had never met a staring contest she hadn't won.

"Ngn... It feels so _good_. God, I love my titties-"

"I love them, too." Squeezed tighter. Gathered them in her hands and lifted them up and let them bounce back like marshmallow while Une kissed her. Une's eyes were predatory behind glasses that just made 'em look even more ferocious.

"I- I thought your glasses were round." One of those pointless thoughts that hit you when you're being tortured to death with pure delight.

"I like these more." Une's lips settled on her neck. Tasted sweet skin and a tang of sweat and her perfume's mawkish stripe on her tongue when it flashed out to roll along her collarbone and back up to Hilde's left ear.

Buried herself in the short satiny hair and wrapped her lips around the lobe and suckled for a half-second before Une's voice burned itself around the shell.

 _I **really** want you, Hilde_.

"Christ, yes. Yes. Yes." Hilde's skirt was gone in about a half-second after that. No theatrics. No patient striptease. Her tunic finally off her arms and Hilde was wearing _nothing_ but the stockings' sweat-polished sheerness on her legs and a pair of panties that looked about as substantial as dental floss with a thong between her butt's high bubbly cheeks when she hit Une's bed.

It was big. Dominated about half the room, a California king Une had bought with Dorothy and she figured she was owed it in the separation. A mirror opposite that and a vid planted on the wall to gather dust and a bookshelves groaning with an entire library of books she actually read and that was about it.

The fan overhead was still, stared down at them. Hilde caught a glint of herself in cold blue light reflected from its hub.

She looked crazed. A sketch of long trim shapes and curvaceous legs and big breasts and a calico of ceruse skin and obsidian cloth. And now Une's lean athletic shoulders and slender shapes obliterated almost everything. The ceiling had a swirling scalloped textured. Moved slowly like she was on a ship's deck when Une's mouth burned a patient sticky succession of kisses over her belly.

And then her eyes just flashed down to Une's fierce dark eyes when she dipped a tongue into her navel's shallow divot.

"G-God, that's-"

"Ticklish?"

"Kinda? It... I feel..." What the hell _did_ Hilde feel, anyway? Une saw it. There was something a little conflicted there. You ended conflicts by crushing all resistance. So she did just that. Fell even lower, flowed across the mattress between Hilde's legs in a dress that looked about two sizes tighter than her skin.

Finally finally _finally_ tasted those delicious boundaries between her voluptuous naked thighs and the stockings' glittery fabric.

"God, these are sheer." Sheerer than anything Une usually wore. Hers were just a shade darker. Coarser. And Hilde just watched while Une's soles lifted up at the ceiling while she lay on her belly. Looked like a _very_ overdeveloped girl while long confident fingers teased at her skin.

Her thighs were sleek and cool with an inkling of springy almost teenage softness layered over firm muscle. Her legs were shapelier than Une's. Softer, too. They had that fullness that sent one of those _do I wanna fuck you or be you?_ quandaries spattering between Une's ears.

Decided it was better to be a realist and just love the reality.

"You don't like touching yourself, Hilde?" Hilde wondered _what_ the fuck Une was talking about.

"I- I'm kind of, like, a master of masturbation right now-"

"Your tits, I mean. Your hands are just kinda sitting there." Were they? Hilde hadn't noticed. Hadn't felt anything outside of the narrow cone of purified cranked-to-eleven sensation centered on Une. She was a wet dream in size sixes and the only thing wrong with her was she wasn't wearing those fuck-me shoes anymore.

Hilde saw her toes twitch a little through the dark nylon painted on what looked like the most amazing fucking legs she'd ever seen. Long and firmer than an exercise model's and athletic like she'd, well, like she'd spent her entire life training to fight and then fighting and then kept on with the training.

Fingertips teased up Hilde's thighs, bracketed the place where they converged on her panties' flimsy black fabric.

"G-God, Une... I- I'm..." And Hilde's hands _were_ just sitting there still on her tits. They'd settled like some idiot modesty instinct on her chest while a goddess was about to go down on her and _now_ she pushed them harder on that flesh.

Didn't regret it.

The sensation was more than she'd ever had alone. Just knowing Une could see her, that she was being fed into those animal eyes, yeah, it was delirious. Her head almost ached with how overfull the sensation was. Clasped her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and twisted and rolled and teased and finally pinched them.

Yanked them out 'til her body screamed for relief or at least started whining and let them go. And did it again.

And almost came, God, no, she _really_ came, this sudden splash of sensation like a spark between her thighs, when Une finally kissed her through the panties. A microgasm. _Something_. Her eyes went white for a second and then reality tore back into her.

"O-oh, Christ, Une-"

"How does it feel? A woman's mouth?" It wasn't just the feeling. There was that. But there was the _spectacle_. Hair piled rich and dark and still a little misty on Une's shoulders and beautifully nonchalantly messy in the way it only could be in a modeling shoot and her eyes shadowed in purple, big pussy-eating lips aubergine.

They glowed. Pushed against softness that'd grown swollen and started aching with a need for _something_ with a slow deliberate grace. Une probably ate ripe tropical fruit _just_ like that. And then pressed even harder. Harder.

Sticky kisses through damp fabric. Her lips closed around Hilde's pussy and then left again with this quiet little _click_ , still beautifully pursed in a way that turned Une into a vision from one of the dark and delirious and confusing dreams she'd had about Kristina Gerhardt, that sylphine bitch from the swim team freshman year.

And then Une's tongue flashed out like a switchblade. Swiped at her through the cloth and had Hilde almost screaming. She was absolutely delicious. The fabric was soaked through with something rich and sweet and with an aroma that was like any woman and totally ineffably Hilde's. It poured into Une's nose, melted nerves into a feedback loop between her pussy and her thighs and her head and her fingers and mouth and started slamdancing her into sexual psychosis.

Une wanted to have a hand between her own legs. There was a miserable _emptiness_ there. Throbbing and pleading for a touch. For fingers and lips and even just a woman's thigh.

"O-oh, my God, why the fuck aren't you just _eating me_ yet-"

"Oh? You wanted that? I thought you'd want it slow and girlish." But there _was_ the tease Hilde was just begging for with that bratty goth-slut face.

"G-God, what?"

"Like all the porno movies-"

" _What_ porno movies are you watching? T-th'only ones I've seen have- have these blonde hardbodies with oversized tits trying- like, to pretend they're interested and fingering each other with these bigass nails-"

"Jesus." Une had seen one.

Once.

And it was more just this blue movie with beautiful women and they were _pretending_ to be college girls, even if they looked like they were about twenty-eight.

Maybe Une was kind of sheltered.

"Uh- _huh_ -"

"I love _your_ nails, Hilde. You know, they're lizzie nails." Hilde was polite enough to send one hand coasting down her belly. Her own touch felt like sandpaper next to Une's mouth, her tongue, her fingers.

"You- you do? They are?"

Short and black-varnished and perfectly rounded and that was just _made_ to push inside a woman.

"Oh, yeah." Une's were pretty much the same. 'cept they were regulation buff color. Une didn't bother asking her anymore. Sent her hands curling under Hilde's ass and cupped those round cheeks and **squeezed**. Dragged a pitiful little yip out of her glossy black lips and had her head sinking back into the pillow she'd chosen more for height than anything else.

And lifted her up so effortlessly Hilde wondered what they could do if Une had her up against a wall. Took hold of her panties' hem with her teeth and yanked them down and down and away with the kind of practiced ease that would've had a _much_ more jealous girl melting down with how much time and effort on a beautiful woman's body it clearly took to master that technique.

Hilde was not jealous.

Well, she was. A little. A little jealous Une had never divined _just_ how fucking much she needed this and dragged her by the hair into her bedroom before. Felt her own back arch, her legs limn a delicious shallow arc around Une's shoulders.

Une just stared at her through a mist of hot soft fragrance.

"Wow. You're totally smooth." Hilde was. She fucking _hated_ pubic hair. It pissed her off, always rasping at her underwear, crinkling and tickling and raw with sweat under her coveralls and sometimes a welder's suit and when there were deep-space salvage jobs in a fucking normal suit for eight hours at a time.

"Uh-huh."

"You're so pretty." Hilde was. Her pussy's lips were softer than Une's. Bigger. Plush and glowing with juices whose scent was _really_ potent now. Clean and ripe and delicious. Une just inhaled it.

"Jesus, you're-"

"What?" Sucking down a cloying ocean of it before Une finally just _kissed_ her there. Wet and clinging and fuck Une's lips were incredible. It wasn't the first time Hilde'd been eaten but it was the first time she had the sense it was anything but just something to get done so something more **important** to a certain jackass could happen.

"Christ, Une! Une!" Hilde's hands fell on Une's scalp like electromagnetism. Carded through hair that felt fuller and heavier than anything she'd had in her hands for too long. Silky. Une's lips were even silkier, wetter, indulging her with the messiest most perpendicular kiss she'd ever had. "Yeah! Oh! Fuck!"

Fuck.

Fuck.

Hilde had _always_ been loud. But she could hear herself and it sounded like some bad overwrought porno movie, yeah, yeah, fuck, oh, yeah, goddamn, c'mon, harder, harder.

She loved it.

So did Une. Felt like a sledgehammer mashed on her brain with every soft giving kiss; her lips' every movement up and around Hilde's pussy. God, she was delicious. It tasted like syrup and there was a musky edge and it invaded her nose and colonized her head and now Une just clasped a firm kiss on Hilde's clit and felt her fingers go completely limp in her hair.

"Ohmyfuckingawd!" And _that_ , that deliciously Valley Girl yelp, crack off the ceiling. "Une! Une!"

"More?" Une gave her more. Thumbs pushed in on her pussy's lips and squeezing tighter and tighter and her lips wrapped around her clit's grindingly supersensitive bud and kissing, kissing, finally gracing her with a gentle little suction before her tongue slipped out and planted itself on her.

"Yes, _more_!"

"How much more? Une didn't know _why_ she got like this with a girl like Hilde. Maybe it was the adorably slutty goth schoolgirl look or maybe it was the impossibly perfect legs quaking against her shoulders, hot skin and slick fabric, but damn if she didn't just want to tease her 'til Hilde offered herself in sexual slavery just for an orgasm.

Any orgasm.

Une's hands and lips and tongue were more than Hilde could take. No need for slavery when fingertips slid effortlessly between her pussy's lips with a sound like dipping a finger into a puddle of honey. Two slipped effortlessly inside her and painted a ragged red smear behind Hilde's eyes.

"Christ, Christ, that... That feels _so_ fucking good." It did. Une's fingers petted her from the inside, clasped together, easing up up **up** 'til they creased that spongy soft point inside her only a few guys' cocks ever quite managed to find **right** and then stayed there. And no guy had ever done that. "Une, that's-"

"Your spot, right?" Une knew. She could feel it. Hilde was too fucking tight to be believed. Clamped down around her fingers roughly enough she wondered if she'd need to start looking into splints and didn't really care. Greasy juices and a succession of what felt like wet velvet nooses worked over them.

And Une pushed. And pushed. Stroked Hilde with a slow deliberation. Tore delectable little yelps and whimpers out of her shaking jaws and felt orgasm start to build up higher, hotter. Une could've brought her off in about a half-second.

They both knew that.

But where would the fun have been? It was lovelier just to swipe her tongue shallowly between Hilde's lips, to gorge herself on that guava-perfect sweetness, roll it around Hilde's clit and finally fucking **finally** start laving her.

Long firm rolls, tongue flattened out, grinding over her clit with a third finger tucked inside Hilde and pushing out against those bowing taut walls snapping back on her knuckles and torturing her spot and all Hilde could feel was the world start to taper to a sharp point inside her hips.

Everything boiled down there and thickened and hardened and then imploded and blasted back out with orgasm's tide flashing out almost painfully into her belly and tightening her thighs and calves and sending her toes splaying out and slackening her fingers on Une's nape and her cheek and roaring down her arms and legs and fanning out through her 'til she was sure there really **was** steam rising off her head.

"Oh- oh- oh!" The sound was almost anticlimactic. She should've been screaming but she did so loudly nothing came out of her throat except a mousy squeak and her eyes went wide and then slammed closed and she shook and juddered 'cause Une wasn't _stopping_.

Stroked her faster and faster now. Shoved her up from what was usually a plateau and was turning into Jacob's Ladder or at least Jacob's Express Elevator, Une's left hand hoisting Hilde's right leg over her shoulder and then the left on the other and burying herself between thighs that muffled Une's world and narrowed it to Hilde's pussy and eyes and voice and nothing else.

Everything vanished but a beautiful woman's beautiful body. Fingers effortlessly pumping into Hilde's pussy, three in a firm beak and lunging into her to the third knuckles and then out again and again with a fast spluttering sound. Hilde's juices crawled up her fingers, along her wrists, and Hilde came. Again.

A shocking sudden bone-snapping orgasm.

"F-fuck, fuck, you- you're not- not stoppin'."

No.

No, Une was not.

Tongue a constant rhythmic stripe on her clit and now Une's thighs moved together, slowly, oblivious to everything but this and Hilde's heels rapping at her back, at-

"Jesus Christ, I wanna fuck you, too!" Hilde didn't exactly _stop_ her. But it was close enough. Legs tightened on Une's shoulders. "I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you, too, Une. L-lemme-"

"You're sure?" Une didn't care if the whole evening was just eating Hilde 'til she passed out.

"Do I _not_ sound sure?" Hilde sounded psychotic. "Oh, Christ, I can't believe I'm sayin' it, but get out of that little black dress. I- unless we can fuck with it on?"

"Not really." It would've torn. Une didn't care. Really didn't. But it was just easier to have it off, peeled away and on the floor and Une wasn't _wearing_ a bra with the dress. Didn't need one.

And her panties were the most incredible Hilde'd ever seen.

European. Side-tie and high-cut and they made Une's dancer'slegs look even longer before her fingers yanked at the string like a magic trick and made them disappear.

Une _did_ have pubic hair. A bit. A modest little crop of crinkly dark curls over her pussy, well-trimmed and everything else absolutely glabrous. She was almost dripping.

"You're so beautiful." Hilde just lay back on the mattress, legs slack, stared up at Une. Une really _was_ incredible. Framed with her long hair, deflated a little with sweat, threads of it plunging over her shoulders winding around her back and cradling her ribs.

Big breasts. Maybe not _quite_ like Hilde's, but large. Generous and gently upturned and they looked like the old topless pinup girls with torpedo tits Hilde had around in the shop. Her pussy's lips were thinner, sleeker, almost girlish, but her clit jutted out proud and begging for attention.

Hilde was on her knees in a half-second. Eased down on the floor in front of Une and stared up at her under heavy lids and big lashes. Set her palms on Une's thighs and rejoiced in _just_ how hard they felt. There was still a kiss of feminine softness.

Her skin felt like oiled satin. Toyed with her stockings' hems; idle, a little dazed, pulling them away from Une and letting them snap back with the tension. Nuzzled her thighs and brushed soft lips along her knees and down to her calves and back up again.

"God, you're so sexy, Une." Stared up into Une's eyes and felt herself being devoured while she worshiped her back. She'd never really smelled another woman before outside of some strange shocking exciting slam-dancing in a club when she was racing with so much E she was pretty sure she'd come just from sipping a glass of water.

Une said nothing. Just steepled fingers on Hilde's naked shoulders. Teased along her jawline and up into her hair.

"You smell so _good_ , too." If Une could suck down _her_ scent, she could do the same. Eased closer and set her cute little nose's peak against Une's hard belly and let her scent waft. Her breath burned along Une's clit. Tortured her pussy.

"You're driving me totally fucking crazy, you know, Hilde- ah!" And then finally _kissed_ her. It was a quick little peck and it still had Une's eyes going glassy for a second. Her shoulders slouching. "Damn. Damn."

And now _more_ than a kiss. From zero to the sloppiest Une'd felt for awhile. Most girls she knew made an effort to be dainty or delicate or at least didn't have Hilde's appetite. Une wasn't just being licked and kissed and stroked.

She really _was_ being eaten. Hilde's mouth opening wider and wider with every sopping firm crush against Une. Tongue rolling out in a half-second, digging deep between those tight lips and tugged from that opening up to her clit and down again and now Hilde wasn't even pretending to be gentle.

Hands on Une's thighs and pushing her tongue as deeply as she could into her new lover. It felt fucking _powerful_ to have a woman as ferocious as the Iron Colonel Une, that brutal cold-eyed colonel-general-whatever shaking and quaking, bent almost double with Hilde's fingers swirling around on her juice-slicked clit and tongue shaking inside her.

It felt gooey, impossibly fucking hot. Hilde was just disappointed with how _shallowly_ she reached and it didn't really matter. ' cause she still felt Une when orgasm spiked her from her head to her heels. Everything shuddered. Une's jaw tightened and a hard bark vaulted out of her mouth.

"Fuck! Hilde! I- I came- I can't fucking stand up anymore-"

"No?" God, Hilde was a brat. High school makeup as resilient as Une's, smeared and glowing with pussy, her hair messy, staring back up at her.

"No." Hilde squealed and giggled, Christ, an honest-to-God squeal, when Une just scooped her off the floor and tossed her down on the bed. "You're _really_ good. But do you wanna know what feels even better?"

"Oh, God. You're gonna kill me." Une laughed. So did Hilde.

Husky and hot and a little manic.

"Oh, you think so?"

"It's gonna kill me if it feels better than that. Yeah. Jesus, I mean, that's just- _fuck_ , yeah." Hilde wasn't exactly complaining. And she could taste herself on Une's mouth. Just like Une could on hers when they kissed.

It wasn't unhurried anymore. Une mauled her. Hilde just attacked her back. And then everything died with Une's firm fingers on her milky skin. Bit into her thighs and furrowed the stockings' fabric and creased her body and had Hilde sinking down into the bed again.

Squeaked when Une laced together their legs. She hadn't been expecting exactly _that_. Hadn't thought they'd be kinked into a pair of pretzels or maybe those rings magicians always had that **looked** like they fit together seamlessly and you could always tease them apart and swipe them back together again what were they called?

Christ, why did she _care_?

And she stopped entirely when Une's pussy splashed slippery and hot up against hers. Their lips were perfect for each other _everywhere_. Une falling against her, arms wound around Hilde's waist, dragging her so close and so tight their nipples sparkled against each other, tits flattening in a hot plush shelf.

Une wasn't being delicate with her. Just like she'd promised. She fucked her. Ground their bodies together. Une's fragrance was subtler than Hilde's and still spilled over her.

Clean: Vaguely fruity shampoo and the Coca-Cola and lime and an inkling of the booze and a tinge of Dagwood's disgusting cigarette smoke and springlike sweat and just something **womanly**. Her pussy against's Une's thigh; Une's against hers. Lubricious lips and clits and that perfect smooth skin while they twisted together.

It felt like they'd been pulled into a knot. Une's toes grazed Hilde's heels. A whisper of fabric against fabric. Feet and ankles brushed together and whenever Hilde tightened around Une, she felt the same and it just rose, hotter, higher.

Ground herself up and down Une's skin. Painted her 'til she was slathered with her body and she knew she was plastered with Une. Kissed her until her lips were numb. The world whirled around them. Tumbled around the mattress; on her right side. On her left. On top of Une and then on her back and Une was crushing her down on the bed, fingers laced tight in her hair, another on her cheek while Une planted her pussy on Hilde's and _pushed_.

Une just fucked her. Mercilessly. Pussies worked together with a sound like dampening your hands with soap and water and twisting them back and forth. Clit against clit like knotting together two bare high-tension wires and lips full and puffy and oily and melting together so perfectly it felt as natural as Une's kiss on her mouth.

Une was an athletic fever-fantasy. Hilde caught snatches of her biceps' muscle rising into hard relief, her wiry forearms. Sinewy shoulders and her breasts swaying with every movement. Une's eyes crazed behind her glasses, jaw half-open, tongue teasing over her lips and tightly-muscled tummy throbbing with every breath.

Sweat shellacked her. Rolled in thin ant-lines down Une's brow and pooled in her collarbone and dripped over Hilde and Hilde came. And came. And came. With every new collision. Every new twist. Felt her toes clutch at the sheets when they curled and spread out when a new splatter of sensation burned down her legs.

And then she hit a point where everything just felt so fucking cold she was sure she was dying from a fever. Pumped together with Une and Une writhing back against her.

Hilde was divine. Big tits jiggling and snapping up against her chin when Hilde's back traced an arch that'd have bridges collapsing out of envy. Their legs ground together, fabric on fabric and skin on skin and Une's entire body shook with the movement until she felt something take hold of every nerve and crank them tight 'til they broke.

Everything broke. Une just crushed herself against Hilde while Hilde's jaw slackened. Her tongue was out; spit dripped down her jaw.

She was pretty sure she'd passed out at some point and woke up again and Une just quavered there, glasses misted with sweat and heat. And melted down with a loud screaming orgasm that felt like a hot steel fist around her belly and blazing in her pussy and shredding her apart from the inside.

She **wailed** it. Shrieked and felt her brain dripping out of her ears and finally just stopped.

The world kept moving but they didn't. Breath. Sweat. Hair messy and their bodies' aromas muddled together and Une's fingertips tingled on Hilde's jawline.

They said nothing for awhile 'til Une finally broke the quiet like taking an ax to Waterford crystal.

"You're fucking incredible, Hilde." Hilde just blinked up at her. Une's voice was even darker, thicker. Huskier from the screaming.

"W-what about you, Une? Ohmygod. I just- I think I passed out at some point."

"Good." Une kissed her again. Softly. Slowly. Brushed their brows together. Sweat against sweat.

"Christ, it's so hot, Une."

"You want me to turn on the fan?"

"Uh-uh. Just... God, I want you to hold me for awhile." Une did. Wrapped her arms around Hilde and _heard_ skin glide over skin. Breasts pushed together. Legs and fingers on the small of Hilde's back and Hilde's on Une's cheeks, both on their sides.

It **really** was obscenely fucking hot in the room's still air and the smallest turbulence felt like a rime of ice crusting on their skin.

Hilde felt their hearts thudding together. Breath finally slowing. She could actually breathe again.

"Hey, Une?"

"Mmm?" At least Une hadn't just rolled over and passed out. It was stupid the way that thought spiked her brain. "What is it?"

 _Hilde_ almost had. She'd kind of sagged into that drowsy dreamtime between sleep and wakefulness. Meaningless little thoughts and fantasies spangling in her brain like fistfuls of diamond scattered on black water.

"I thought you were asleep, Hilde."

"Uh-uh. I just... Kinda? I was wondering, y'know, what- what your name is."

"My name? You don't like _Une_?"

"It's your last name, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, uh, what's your first?"

"If you laugh, I'll break your back."

"So romantic. My first time with a beautiful woman, and she's threatening bodily injury-"

"It's Lady." Hilde laughed. It was kind of a curt little bark.

"Okay, if you don't wanna tell me. Or, like, is that some kinda bondage-"

"My parents named me Lady."

Hilde said nothing for awhile. Une always thought it was a dumbass name.

"I think it's kind of nice. Different."

"You're just saying that-"

"No. Really. Y'know, I mean, it's unusual, but so what? I think it's really pretty. Lady. I like it."

"You really do?" Une wasn't gonna begrudge her that.

"Yeah. I... I like it. It's kind of- I mean, it gives you this fairytale princess thing I really- I really like. I think I kinda need right now." Hilde would've winced if Une hadn't been holding her so close. _That_ really sounded needy.

Neurotic.

"Yeah." But Une didn't say anything. "I could stand to use some fairy tales right about now, too, I think."

"Huh. I... That felt fucking _incredible_. I mean, just, Jesus, if I'd known girls were **that** nice, I probably would've lived that shitty name the girls gave me back in school a lot sooner."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, how clever, right?" Hilde finally twisted her eyes up at Une. Une just stared back at her from behind her glasses' squared lenses. "Dyker. Hilde Dyker."

"I'm glad I was home-schooled."

"So, like, some ultra-religious right-wing nutcase family?"

"No. Just very wealthy. And nuts."

"Nice. I wish I'd been born into a rich family."

"They made me kill a man when I was five." So matter-of-fact it sounded like she was complaining they'd made her wear a dirndl.

"My mom and dad just beat me like a stingy piñata. I wanted to kill a man when I was five, too." Une laughed because life was just ridiculous. "And a woman. I, ah... That's why I dropped out of high school my freshman year.

"Ran away from home. Joined the military. For a few days, anyway." Hilde laughed again. It was a little pained. "Met Duo. What a goddamned stupid name _that_ is."

"All life's silly and pointless if you really think about it-"

"But _really_ stupid. At least, I dunno, Heero and Wufei? Those sound like names. Trowa sounds like a bad pun and Quatre is, well, he was just the fourth kid in his family, right? And- I'm sorry. So sexy, right?

"Getting pissed off at my ex-husband after we've just had wall-shaking write-your-parents-in-hell sex."

"It's okay." Une's fingers lazily toyed with Hilde's hair. "God, I love that goth makeup."

"It makes me feel younger. Sexier."

"You're absolutely gorgeous."

"Does it piss you off to hear about that kinda thing?"

"No."

"I mean, y'know, I- I wouldn't be mad if you wanted to talk about- about weird-eyebrows girl-"

"I've had enough of Dorothy for awhile, I think." Maybe a decade.

"He always made me feel like shit. I think that's what I hated most about him. We- we felt too much like brother and sister and not enough like lovers. I think that creeped him out and I get it, but he didn't have to be so cruel to me.

"We got married way too soon. Just- just euphoric after all that war shit, and... And really, I shoulda seen it, y'know? A guy who was in love with a giant war machine. He probably jerked off to it." Hilde's laugh was perfunctory and so bitter if you'd condensed it into liquid and drank it you'd die. "I've been a little lost."

"And now?"

"Well, I found my way here, didn't I?" At least that laughter was prettier. Gentler. "I- I mean... You know, you- you probably... You're probably lookin' for a one-night thing, right? This was- was awesome."

Une could feel her retreat back into herself. She didn't know if she wanted to reel Hilde back or not.

"I'd be lying if I said that wasn't why I was at that shithole tonight."

"You do that a lot? P-pick up girls? Guys-"

"No guys."

"Really? You, um, you ever have sex with a guy?"

"No."

"Why?"

"There was really only one I ever wanted. And that's not possible."

"He, er, he's taken or something?"

"You could say that." Une didn't want to talk about the sound of cracking glass. Twisting metal. A last shriek of static through the radio link.

"I think I'm... I'm pretty bi. But that was the best sex I've ever had. No- no question about that. You just- goddamn, you made me see _God_. I'm serious, Lady." Une liked it. Hearing that secret name on Hilde's lips.

"I like hearing that. Lady, I mean."

"'cause you _know_ you're a sex-queen?"

"I've never had any complaints." Hilde's laughter really was fantastic. A little nasal and brash.

"I, ah... Can we do this again?"

"Tonight?" Une's voice had a _really_ dangerous edge.

"God, I- I don't think I'd _survive_ doing it again tonight." Hilde pursed her lips. "Well, maybe after I eat something."

"Only if you retract what you said about Cyndi Lauper."

"Make me." Hilde _really_ was begging for it now. So why not oblige? Une tipped up her face and crushed her lips on Hilde's so fucking hard and for so long Hilde came away with a gallery of black spots flickering through her eyes.

"Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I've never seen this pairing before, so maybe I've set a new precedent. Or something.
> 
> And I might not write about these characters often, but damn I like it when I do. Nostalgia, huh?


End file.
